Sunday, November 13, 2016

poem for a fight

A shaky finger scrapes
the back of the throat, for want of saying
something. nothing good ever comes out and
it tastes bad all the time and I don't even
know why I do it but the finger to hand to
belly squeeze must bring the feeling that
will correct the current binge. I've heard
too many of your words
They have made my belly fat;
distended, and sharp, they hurt
I am too hungry for my thoughts and words
when I want them more they don't come
and when I get them I swallow them whole
oh, here...the gorgeous heave, the brilliant purge
feathers and bones like the cats bring,
 maybe a mauled rabbit
those who starve themselves
wander with empty commentary
                       -their empty commentary
scattered on the floor like Halloween candy

how can I vomit to you a war?

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